


Red Ribbon

by scrollgirl



Series: Red Ribbon [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Clan Mitchell, Crossover, Earth, Episode: s03e10 The Return Part 1, Episode: s10e08 Memento Mori, First Time, Genderswap, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-13
Updated: 2009-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-06 22:53:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrollgirl/pseuds/scrollgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is not having a good time. He's been kicked out of Atlantis, stuck with a gate team he hates. Rodney's in Nevada, Teyla and Ronon are in Pegasus. Now he's got a tenth grade crush on Cameron Mitchell, Air Force golden boy. It's been a while since John fell for a straight guy--he's out of practice. But then? His day gets <i>worse</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Ribbon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alizarin_nyc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alizarin_nyc/gifts).



> Set during "The Return, Part 1" for SGA, and spans a period of time between "Memento Mori" and "The Quest" for SG-1. The Ancient device mentioned is from my Jack/Daniel fic, [This Is the Alternative](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7990). Written for [](http://community.livejournal.com/sg_flyboys/profile)[**sg_flyboys**](http://community.livejournal.com/sg_flyboys/). Early beta by [](http://capricious-k.livejournal.com/profile)[**capricious_k**](http://capricious-k.livejournal.com/).

General O'Neill promises John a gate team as a consolation prize for getting kicked out of Atlantis by the Ancients. "The Pentagon wants a full debriefing with the entire military contingent of the expedition, but we'll keep it as quick and painless as possible. With more and more planets falling to the Ori, I want you and your people back in the field where you can do some good."

"Looking forward to it, sir," John says with a tight smile. It won't be Teyla and Ronon and McKay at his back, but a gate team is light years better than riding a desk.

So he keeps his mouth shut when Landry assigns him to SG-23 with Wallace, Babbis, and Grainger. Grainger is a typical Marine -- tough, competent, and faintly annoyed at having to baby-sit a hapless biologist, an even more hapless airman, and an officer whose hair looks the way John's does. Not that John can blame the man his frustration, considering the way Babbis and Wallace seem to be in silent competition over which one of them will get the next concussion.

At least they come back from their latest mission without any broken bones.

Mitchell, already in civvies, catches John coming out of the locker room and follows him onto the elevator. "Sheppard, heard one of your guys is in the infirmary," he says as they head up to the surface. "Again. What the hell happened?"

John rolls his eyes. "Babbis sprained his wrist putting up the tent."

The incredulous expression on Mitchell's face is vaguely insulting, and John's about to speak up in his man's defence when he remembers: _sprained his wrist putting up a tent_. At least when SG-1 ends up in the infirmary, it's because they've narrowly escaped being killed by hostile aliens while trying to save the galaxy from certain doom. Speaking of which.

"How goes the quest for the Holy Grail?" John still doesn't know what to make of this whole Knights of the Round Table re-enactment that's playing out in the Milky Way, but he's got a dozen Monty Python jokes lined up, waiting for the perfect moment. Too bad Rodney is stuck in Nevada; it's not the same, telling them over the phone. And Teyla and Ronon are an entire _galaxy_ away, which sucks even worse since they side with John on "Holy Grail" being funnier than "Life of Brian", to Rodney's everlasting disgust and dismay.

John can't remember whether Mitchell likes Monty Python. He does remember Mitchell used to laugh at his jokes, even the really lame ones, back when they were stationed together in Afghanistan. But that was a lifetime ago, back when they were younger and brasher and believed in their own invulnerability, and despite Mitchell's friendliness since John's return to Earth, he doubts the other man has forgotten John's role in his cousin's death.

Besides, John has read all the Ori-related mission reports. He knows Chulak has been conquered, the weapon on Dakara is gone, the Jaffa are scattered, and most of Earth's allies have either converted to Origin out of self-preservation or been wiped out entirely. Things are pretty grim around the SGC these days. Mitchell's recounting Dr. Jackson's research efforts with the forced cheer of a cancer patient pinning his hopes on the latest round of chemo.

"You like Chinese?" says John abruptly. "There's a Szechwan restaurant near my building. We could get take-out --" 'And go back to my place' is the rest of that sentence, but John cuts himself off before he says anything too obvious. More obvious.

His impulsive offer turn out to be a good one, though, because Mitchell lights up right away at the suggestion. "Yeah, I've been there, it's a great place," he says, all eager enthusiasm. "Best crispy beef in two states."

"Great." John smiles back and goes for broke. "They finally issued me a new credit card, so my treat." When Mitchell tries to protest, he shrugs and says, "Hey, I still owe you for that pizza I let go cold in the back of the jumper."

"All right, then!" Mitchell laughs, giving in with good grace. "But I'm paying for the beer."

Then he digs his keys out and tosses them over. John stares down at them in his hand, then stares at Mitchell. "You're letting me drive the mustang? Seriously?"

Mitchell claps him on the back and winks. "You treat her nice and I'll even let you take her for a spin on the back roads next time we're both on stand-down."

* * *

Cam follows Sheppard into the tiny bachelor pad and tries to keep a neutral expression at the sight of cracked beige walls and scuffed linoleum. A fancy-looking skateboard leans precariously against a plastic moving crate half full of civilian clothes, shoes, magazines, and what looks like official Atlantis briefing books. There's a high-end entertainment centre set up and an even more high-end leather couch, but the coffee table is a piece of plywood set on top of two overturned milk crates and there are no curtains for the windows. The kitchen is cramped and completely bare of cookware.

"Yeah, I know," says Sheppard, kicking off his boots. "It's a hole. Keep your shoes on if you want, I don't care." He goes into the kitchenette and rummages in a drawer. "I have paper plates."

Cam gives him a wry smile and brandishes his chopsticks. "Let's just eat out of the containers." They turn on ESPN and settle onto the incredibly comfortable couch (Cam notices a pile of linen crumpled in one corner and wonders if Sheppard uses it as a bed) and dig into their kung pao chicken, crispy beef, noodles, hot and sour soup, and tofu. "How can you eat that stuff?" asks Cam, making a face at the little white rectangles sitting in their spicy red sauce.

Wielding his chopsticks with the delicate precision of a surgeon, Sheppard pops another piece in his mouth. "Reminds me of an Athosian dish they make with tava beans. We had it all the time." He plucks another bit of tofu from his container and drops it into Cam's. "Besides, it's good for you."

Wrinkling his nose, Cam chews the tofu carefully, because maybe it won't be as gross as he remembers. The chilli adds some flavour, but the slippery sensation is too much like the slime pits on P4X-134, and Cam gulps his beer to wash it down. "I'll stick with the beef, thanks."

"Your loss, my gain," replies Sheppard loftily. He slurps down the rest of the tofu while Cam makes gagging faces.

That the man likes tofu explains _so much_, Cam decides, and shovels more kung pao chicken into his mouth.

* * *

John finds a new routine. It's not a great routine, not even close, but it's what he's got. It's a bland studio apartment he hates, a cement cell laughingly called his office, milk runs through the gate with a team he can't rely on, commissary food with Carson and Lorne when their schedules match up, long-distance phone calls to Nevada that Landry's turning a blind eye to, and a sweaty palms, sticky sheets, tenth grade crush on Lt. Colonel Cameron Mitchell, golden boy of the USAF.

It's been a long while since John fell for a straight boy. He's out of practice.

The first couple of times Mitchell invites him over for a home-cooked meal, John wonders. Thinks -- _maybe_. But then he remembers that Mitchell really _is_ that much of a people-person, the kind of guy who gets along with everyone, with actual caring and genuine interest to back up the Southern charm and good ol' boy attitude. For some reason Mitchell's decided to adopt him, and John is lonely enough (though he'll never admit it on pain of death) and crushing hard enough to take what he can get.

So they hang out. Go running in the mornings. Play basketball. Or, more accurately, since basketball isn't exactly his sport, SG-1 minus Carter plays basketball and sometimes John subs in if Jackson has an inconveniently-timed epiphany and runs back to his office in the middle of a game.

And a couple times a week, whenever they're both Earth-side, Mitchell cooks dinner, or they get take-out, and they watch whatever game is playing on the gazillion channels this planet has to offer. (College football is one of the few upsides of being banished from the Pegasus galaxy.) And it's... nice. Almost like dating. Except for the part where Mitchell is straight and completely oblivious to John eyeing his ass in those tight jeans.

The first few times it's just the two of them. But more and more often Teal'c shows up with chips, salsa, and beer he doesn't drink. John tries not to resent this other guy horning in, but one long, steady stare convinces John it's Teal'c who is allowing _him_ to tag along and, really, it's not like John's going to argue with a hundred-year-old Jaffa warrior who can break him in half with both hands tied behind his back.

Still, even with Teal'c playing chaperon, dinner with Mitchell is the high point of his week. On those nights John lets himself consider the possibility that he can move on after all.

Other nights, though... Other nights Mitchell keeps it an SG-1 thing, a team thing. Those nights John skips dinner and goes for a run and doesn't make it back to his crappy apartment until long past midnight, dripping with sweat and trembling with exhaustion and aching for Atlantis.

"General O'Neill made me promise," Mitchell tries to explain one evening when it's just the two of them. He looks apologetic, talking like he owes John something. "What I mean is, he's got a point. Jackson and Carter would grow roots if the rest of us didn't drag them out of the mountain and make them sleep in their own beds and eat real food. And Teal'c and Vala live on base, they're stuck underground unless someone takes them out." He pauses. "Okay, Teal'c could go out on his own if he really wanted to, but he says he's tried that a couple times and it never turns out well."

John gets it. He does, because Rodney's the same way, so he gets it. And he isn't going to point out that technically Vala isn't a member of SG-1 because that would be petty. Because "technically" doesn't matters when someone you care about gets snatched right out from under your nose.

"That was Jackson," Mitchell tells him as he hangs up the phone. "Couple of goons grabbed Vala from the restaurant, pushed her into a car. I gotta get back to the base." He's shoving bare feet into boots and simultaneously shoving leftovers into tupperware containers. "I'm real sorry to run out on you like this," he says, which is about the stupidest thing John's ever heard.

He blocks Cam from stacking more dishes into the sink, grabbing his arms to hold him still. "Stop, I can take care of the dishes," John insists, pushing the other man out of the kitchen. "Go, don't worry about me, just go."

Mitchell wavers for a moment, then grabs his keys. Murmurs, "Thanks, Sheppard," and goes, the mustang roaring into the night.

After setting the DVR to record the game, John attacks the dishes. He scrubs every pot and pan, wipes them dry, then wipes down the counter, the fridge, the tiled floor, until every surface is spotless and shining. He's methodical and meticulous, the way he is cleaning a weapon. Mitchell's apartment is nice, twice the size of his own with a full kitchen and a separate bedroom, and much homier; of course, there are storage rooms in the SGC that are homier than the apartment he's renting. But he likes this place, with the family photos and kiddie artwork, the afghan draped over the back of the recliner, the expensive but not over-the-top entertainment system.

He thinks about watching the rest of the game, or hell, going back to his place. Instead he sits on Cam's couch, pulls out his cell phone, and calls Elizabeth. She doesn't pick up, same as the last time John tried calling, and if it wasn't for the fact that she has responded to a couple of his emails, he'd be worried. Her replies were... short, kind of vague. But he figures the IOA must be keeping her pretty busy. Carson's probably worrying over nothing.

John thinks about Vala and her little-girl pigtails. She reminds him a lot of Ronon, back when he was first settling into Atlantis. That faint, nearly-extinguished flicker of hope for home. For a chance to finally, finally stop running.

Staring out the living room window at the star-spotted sky, he wonders if Teyla and Ronon are okay. He wonders if the city knows he's gone.

* * *

Cam comes home to find Sheppard dead asleep on his couch. The hard-bound copy of _War and Peace_ he inherited from Great Uncle Cameron, which he uses mostly as a door-stopper, is open and face-down on Sheppard's chest. The digital camera Aunt Liddy and Uncle Ed gave him two birthdays ago, while Cam was still struggling with physio, is exactly where he left it after the last team movie night: conveniently sitting on the coffee table. He takes a couple of full-body shots and a few extreme close-ups -- the camera zooming in on the glisten of saliva at the corner of Sheppard's mouth -- then backs quietly out of the living room.

He's only home to shower and change, and to dig up the contacts of some old friends in the CIA. Sam's working with Barrett to organise an NID task force while Jackson has O'Neill calling in favours.

When he comes back out, Sheppard is in the kitchen, frying some eggs. His dark hair is even more of a mess than usual, lying flat on one side and sticking up every which way on the other. It suits him somehow. "There's coffee in the pot," he says first thing, "and sausages on the table. You like scrambled eggs?" The toast pops up and he flips four pieces onto a plate.

"Scrambled's good," Cam replies, setting out the butter and marmalade. He pours coffee into two mugs. "You take it with sugar, right?"

Sheppard looks pleased and surprised that Cam remembers, and nods and turns back to the stove. "The eggs are ready," he says, ladling out two heaping platefuls. They eat silently, too focused on the food to make small-talk, and Cam quickly discovers he's famished from an all-nighter of interviewing witnesses and reviewing security footage from the restaurant. When Sheppard drops the third piece of toast on his plate, he's too grateful for the kindness to protest.

"Thanks, man."

"Consider it an apology for crashing on your couch without permission."

Cam waves that away. "You obviously needed the sleep." He doesn't mention that he knows about Sheppard's midnight adventures through the streets of Colorado Springs, or that, more than Babbis and Wallace's inability to stay out of the infirmary, it's Sheppard's state of mind that is keeping SG-23 on the softball missions. Landry's no fool. Cam may not have reported Sheppard's nocturnal activities to him just yet (and yeah, there's a twinge of guilt there, but the man deserves some time to adjust, right?) but Landry is sharp enough to read the frustration and restlessness and lostness beneath Sheppard's bland smiles and half-hearted "sirs".

"I didn't even hear you come in," Sheppard's saying, sounding rueful, half pissed at himself. "That hasn't happened to me since..." He shakes his head. "I don't think it's happened to me ever. Not when I wasn't knocked out or drugged or otherwise unconscious."

"Or drunk as a skunk?" Cam teases.

"Or otherwise unconscious," Sheppard repeats firmly. The corners of his eyes crease as he holds back a smile, and Cam counts it as a victory -- for Sheppard and for himself. Ten minutes of hot food and a bit of company won't bring Vala safely back to them, or stop Cam from worrying about what the kidnappers want from her, but it's still worth something. It's worth a hell of a lot.

* * *

"Hear you lost your pants again," says John, sticking his head into the infirmary. Mitchell's got his shirt off while Dr. Lam examines the wound in his arm and John can't help sneaking a peek. Broad shoulders, defined arms, a strong chest with light brown hair trailing down to a flat stomach. Couple of interesting scars John wouldn't mind exploring.

Oh yeah, he's got it bad.

"Sam's been telling tales," Mitchell grouses, and squirms impatiently while Lam applies a new dressing.

"Colonel Carter's too much of a professional to gloss over pertinent details in an official report just to save you a little humiliation." John smirks and gives him an exaggerated once-over -- any excuse to let his eyes linger. "The ladies won't have to bother asking boxers or briefs any more."

Lam laughs and strips off her latex gloves. "I haven't had to ask that question since day one," she says with a sly grin, tossing Mitchell's shirt at his chest. "Well, Vala did a good job getting the bullet out. It shouldn't even scar too badly. Keep the bandage dry, don't use the arm, et cetera. You know the drill." Once Mitchell is dressed, she helps him into a sling. "I'd ask if you wanted pain meds..."

"Thanks, Doc, I'm good," says Mitchell, hopping off the gurney. "I'll take an aspirin if I need to."

"Of course you will," Lam sighs, then hands Mitchell a tiny bottle of pills anyway. "Just in case." She turns to John. "I'd appreciate it if you drove him home, Colonel. He really should be resting that arm."

John opens his mouth to agree, but Mitchell holds up his good hand, saying, "Whoa, hey, I'm not going any where until we get Vala back to her old self."

Dr. Lam shakes her head. "That's not going to be for another couple of days at least. Vala's resting now, but I want to run an MRI before Colonel Carter tries to hook her up to the Galaran memory device. The last thing we need is to rush and make a mistake with something as delicate as the brain."

John steps forward. "Which means I'm taking Mitchell home so he can get some real sleep in his own bed." He holds Mitchell's leather jacket open until the other man relents and slips his good arm through, letting the other side drape over his bad shoulder. The empty sleeve still has traces of blood around the bullet hole.

"Let me know if anything changes?" Mitchell says to Lam as they're leaving.

"I will if you will," says Lam with a smile. "Go on, get out of my infirmary."

John doesn't bother changing out of his BDUs, just leads them right out of the Mountain and into the late summer night air. "You want to pick up something to eat?" he asks once they're in the mustang and winding down into Colorado Springs. "Or there's leftover pizza in the fridge."

Mitchell glances over, confused. "I've got leftover pizza?"

Caught, John gazes blindly out the windshield for a long, silent minute, uncertain how to answer without coming across like a stalker. "Yeah, I may have been abusing your hospitality a bit," he finally says, forcing a light, jovial tone. "I went over to your place for lunch today. Picked up a pizza and ate it in front of your television." He flashes a grin that does nothing to dispel the tension. "It was that or the commissary's meatloaf special."

"The meatloaf's not that bad," says Mitchell without inflection. There's nothing in his voice to clue John into whether he's pissed off, or creeped out, or two seconds away from wrestling the steering wheel away from the obviously insane person driving his car. He can feel the weight of Mitchell's gaze like a tangible thing, pressing heavy on his chest, but he can't read him out of the corner of his eye, and John's not brave enough to look at him straight on.

"I'm sorry, okay?" he grits through his teeth. "I just, I couldn't stand being trapped in a cement bunker for another minute." He still can't look at Mitchell, can't hear a sound from him, and feels as though his confession has used up all the oxygen in the car. Cranking down the window, John lets the fresh mountain air wash over him, breathing deeply and missing the bite of brine in the wind.

Eventually Mitchell interrupts the quiet, speaking slowly, cautiously. "Look, Sheppard, I'm not mad at you, if that's what you're thinking." He leans over and nudges John's shoulder with his good hand. "We're friends, right? Mi casa es su casa." There's a pause. "I'm just a little worried about you."

"I'm fine."

Mitchell scoffs, "Sure you are." When John doesn't reply, he sighs and continues, "If you need to talk to someone..."

"Yeah, thanks," John grunts, putting all his focus into making a left-hand turn.

"Or if you want someone to feed you real food instead of take-out, or you just need someplace to crash... I gave you the extra set of keys for a reason, Shep. Day or night."

John meets Cam's open and reassuring gaze for all of a second before turning back to the road. "Still pretty damn presumptuous of me," he says gruffly.

"Hell, I don't care if you'd rather stay at my place than go back to that rat-trap you call an apartment," Mitchell says easily. "Just tell me you didn't get anchovies on my pizza."

John glances over again and relaxes a little, warmed by the teasing smile aimed his way. "No anchovies," he promises. "But there's pineapple."

"_Now_ you're talking," Mitchell cheers and flips the radio to classic rock.

* * *

Cam knows he's not exactly the brains of SG-1. He's smart, no question -- he'd have to be to make lieutenant colonel in the Air Force, even if he's not a genius like Carter. Maybe he doesn't have Jackson's brilliant insights or Teal'c's century of experience or Vala's wiliness, but he likes to think he brings a fresh perspective to an otherwise pretty jaded bunch, as well as an instinctive understanding of what his team needs from him to be the heroes that they are. His parents raised him to pay attention to people's feelings and motivations, and the Air Force trained him to watch every approach for the enemy, and the SGC has taught him to deal with six impossible things before breakfast, so it's not like Cam is fresh off the farm.

But it still comes as a massive shock when he realises John Sheppard has the hots for him.

At first Cam laughs it off: it's ridiculous, he's known Sheppard for years, his cousin Trevor was a groomsman at Sheppard's wedding, for heaven's sake. But the idea gets stuck in his head like a burr under the saddle, driving him crazy. Cam hates to second-guess himself, but he starts to notice things, little things that seem perfectly innocuous when taken at face-value, but which have totally different connotations when seen through the lens of "holy shit, Sheppard _likes me_ likes me."

He thought they'd just been hanging out, two guys who've known each other for years, casual friends becoming better acquainted. Nothing tipped him off -- not the dinners together, which Sheppard started and Cam continued, or their morning runs, which are just _exercise_, or the way they slump comfortably on the couch so their shoulders and knees touch, which is mostly Cam's doing since Sheppard's not a very tactile guy and generally acts like he'd rather shoot you than hug you.

But he watches Cam when he thinks Cam isn't looking. He's subtle, though. Until that moment in the infirmary -- the moment after the moment Sheppard pretended to leer at him, just before his gaze flickered away, the glimmer of genuine desire in his eyes -- Cam would never have guessed that Sheppard was anything less than ruler straight.

Not that he has a problem with it. Of course not.

In fact, Cam is so determined to not have a problem with it that he does nothing to stop or slow down whatever the hell it is they're doing, the home-cooked meals, the weekend drives, the strictly platonic _touching_. Until one morning he wakes up to the scent of coffee and bacon, another toothbrush in the bathroom, sheets and a pillow piled at the end of his couch, Johnny Cash on the radio, and realises that, at some point when he wasn't looking, Sheppard's moved in with him.

"I don't know what I should do," Cam tells Teal'c, who is apparently not at all surprised by recent developments. "The guy's depressed enough already. I don't want to hurt his feelings."

"He has fixated on you as someone familiar who does not also remind him of that which he has lost," Teal'c rumbles, disapproval etched in his frown. "You are merely a coping mechanism."

"Gee, thanks." Cam tilts his head. "I thought you liked Sheppard."

Teal'c raises an eyebrow. "I do not dislike him," he says carefully. "I respect his commitment to the Atlantis expedition. He has led them well, and has gained the trust and loyalty of those serving under his command." A pause, and then with great feeling: "But I do not trust his intentions towards you."

Surprised, Cam blurts out, "Because he's gay?"

Teal'c simply _looks_ at him, the long-suffering look that says _you are so very young_. "Because he is a member of your military and thus subject to its policies -- as you are. You should not even be discussing the matter, with me or anyone else." His expression softens a little, and he adds quietly, "Even suspicion of homosexuality can be detrimental to both your careers. Why then does he not exercise greater restraint in his behaviour toward you?"

Cam shrugs uncomfortably, because he knows it's as much his fault for not discouraging Sheppard. "He's just lonely, Teal'c. I've known the guy a long time and he's never really had a family. Not many friends who're still around, or alive. I know he was married for a while, but obviously it didn't work out. All he has is the Air Force."

"And even here he has been thwarted," Teal'c points out. "He has lost Atlantis; he has lost his team. What more does he have to lose?"

But Cam can't agree. "Give him some credit for self-discipline," he protests. "He's not gonna sabotage his career just because he's upset about losing Atlantis."

"And what of your career, Colonel Mitchell?"

Cam shakes his head and doesn't respond. He trusts Sheppard. Feels responsible for him, even, the memory of Trev binding them together. Teal'c allows the subject to drop, but Cam can read him well enough to know he's not going to stop worrying for him.

* * *

John is not freaking out. He is not freaking out. He is not freaking out. He is -- oh, who the hell is he kidding? He's totally freaking out.

"Relax, Colonel," says the nurse drawing blood from his arm. "Believe it or not," she adds with an amused smile, "this isn't the first time something like this has happened at the SGC." She withdraws the needle and puts pressure on the insertion point with a cotton ball. "There, I'll get these samples to the lab."

John's left to cool his heels while the doctors figure out how the hell this has happened to him. Grainger, Babbis, and Wallace are fine and after their usual post-mission check-up, they're released to write up their reports. (John suspects Wallace in particular is eager to get down on paper the fact that this time it wasn't his fault.) Finally, just as John's finishing up a late lunch, Dr. Lam comes back in with General Landry and Dr. Jackson. "Huh," says Landry. "I was sure you were pulling my leg."

Unfortunately no one's popping out from behind a gurney to yell "April Fool's!" Which means John really _did_ turn into a woman when he accidentally activated the unknown device they found on P9X-825.

Sometimes, he really hates the Ancients.

"How are you feeling, Colonel?" Lam asks him, checking his pulse. "Are you noticing anything unusual? I mean, aside from the obvious."

John's still stuck on 'the obvious' because -- breasts. Vagina. Things that should not belong to his body and yet, inexplicably, do. But no, aside from the obvious lack of his dick, there's nothing really unusual. "I feel fine," he says, shrugging one shoulder, and it's true, even though he thinks it shouldn't be. "Weirded out, but fine."

"The tests we've run are fairly conclusive," says Lam, turning to Landry. "From what I can tell, once activated the device instantaneously re-wrote Colonel Sheppard's Y chromosome to turn him into -- well." She waved a hand at John. "There doesn't seem to be any damage to his DNA other than this change, so I'm cautiously optimistic in pronouncing him as healthy now as he was this morning."

"Aside from the obvious," Landry drawls. "Dr. Jackson, you were telling me that something similar happened to you and Jack a few years ago?"

"Yes, that's right," says Dr. Jackson. "We were exploring the ruins of an Ancient outpost when Jack accidentally activated a device that looks exactly like the one Colonel Sheppard's team just brought back from P9X-825. I grabbed Jack to pull him away and was caught up in the transformation." He shrugs and smiles as though it was no big deal. "Fortunately, Teal'c had witnessed a similar transformation happen to one of the men under his command when he was still First Prime of Apophis. From his observations, and the experience Jack and I had, I think it's safe to conclude Colonel Sheppard will suffer no ill effects."

"Aside from the obvious!" John exclaims, waving a hand at his own body, not quite ready to be blasé about _suddenly turning into a woman_.

"It's a temporary condition, Colonel, I promise," Jackson says earnestly. "Jack and I turned back into our usual selves within four days. Same thing happened with Teal'c's friend. Of course, having said all this," and now he turns to General Landry, "I'd like to volunteer to keep an eye on the colonel during this time. Make sure he's adjusting and that he doesn't feel too overwhelmed by the sudden changes to his body."

Lam looks worried. "I'd prefer the colonel to remain in the infirmary so I can monitor him. We don't know what kind of side effects there might be to this kind of radical physiological transformation. We'll know more once the device General O'Neill found arrives here from Area 51 and Colonel Carter can run a comparative spectral analysis."

But Jackson looks determined to get John out of the Mountain, which... actually kind of worries him a little. "Dr. Lam, I can promise you he'll be fine. I spent my four days as a female watching _Thelma and Louise_ and shopping for Wonder Bras." Landry makes a choking sound, but Jackson keeps going. "Jack spent four days drinking beer and catching up on all the Simpsons episodes he'd missed."

"A beer sounds good right about now," John puts in, because yeah, a beer sounds _great_, and Jackson may be a Grade A weirdo, but he's also the one trying to spring him from the infirmary. John's lost his dick, not his mind. "I'm gonna have to pass on the bra shopping, though."

Landry huffs a laugh. "Get Mitchell to look after him," he tells Jackson. "Those two are always in each other's pockets anyway. I need you to stay focused on your research." He glances back at John once before leaving. "Colonel, you're on medical leave as of this moment. If you start to experience anything unusual, be sure to inform Dr. Lam right away."

"Yes, sir," says John, mostly to himself. Lam pats his arm in sympathy and retreats to her office with his medical file.

"Colonel." John glances over to find Jackson staring at him with the oddest expression. If John has to describe it, he'd almost say the man looks... wistful. "Colonel, we need to talk. But not here." Jackson tilts his head at the nurses bustling around them. "Come on, get dressed. I'll drive."

* * *

"We must go."

Cam looks up from his paperwork to find Teal'c standing in the door to his office, dressed in civilian clothes and with Cam's jacket in one hand. "Go where?"

"Your apartment. Daniel Jackson is bringing Colonel Sheppard there." Teal'c disappears around the corner, still holding Cam's jacket, and despite the fact that Cam's still in his BDUs, he hurries to catch up.

"Teal'c, wait up!" He slides into the elevator just as the doors are closing. "Teal'c, what's going on? Did something happen to Sheppard?" He knows SG-23 was scheduled to go off-world this morning, but the mission was just a simple follow-up of some anomalous energy readings on an uninhabited world. "Don't tell me Wallace is in the infirmary again."

But Teal'c doesn't say another word until they're off the base and heading into the Springs. "This is an Asgard anti-surveillance device," he says, holding out a translucent white oval stone that looks kind of like a computer mouse. "Years ago, when it became apparent that certain factions within your government were keeping close watch on the activities of SG-1 even here on Earth, Thor provided one such device to each of us. Since that time, Thor and Colonel Carter have made modifications to incorporate Ancient anti-surveillance technology as well."

Cam doesn't know where to even begin. "Okay," he says slowly. "Souped up anti-spyware thingy, gotcha." He eases off the gas pedal as they pass into residential neighbourhoods. "Is there a reason you're telling me about this now?"

Teal'c shakes his head. "It would be better for Colonel Sheppard to explain." He leans over and slips the device into Cam's inside breast pocket. "If he so chooses."

There's a strange woman in an oversized Air Force hoodie and scrub pants pacing back and forth in Cam's living room while Jackson sits on the couch, lost in thought. "Okay, seriously," says Cam, looking between Teal'c and Jackson and the woman. "What the hell is going on here? Who is this?" The woman grimaces but stays silent, arms crossed protectively over her chest, her face red. She's disturbingly familiar, but Cam doesn't have the patience for guessing games. "Jackson, I need you to start talking. Now."

Jackson comes over and touches Cam's breast pocket. "It is already activated," Teal'c tells him. "But I have not yet explained the situation concerning Colonel Sheppard."

"Hoo boy." Scratching his neck, Jackson visibly collects his thoughts. "Mitchell, you've read every single mission report, right?"

"If you're gonna start teasing me about that again..."

"Not this time." Jackson glances over his shoulder at the woman. "Do you remember reading a report from three years ago about an Ancient device that was essentially a sex-change machine?"

Cam nods and grins. "How could I forget that one! General O'Neill accidentally activated an Ancient device SG-1 uncovered on PX0-794. Both you and he were transformed into oh holy shit, _Sheppard_?" And Cam's across the room in a heartbeat because, okay, yeah, a report about Jackson and O'Neill turning into women after they've already been changed back makes for funny bedtime reading, but Sheppard _as a woman_, right now, in his living room, is a whole different story.

"God, Sheppard, are you okay?" Cam reaches out to, he's not sure, hug the guy or maybe shake him to make sure he's real, or _something_, but Sheppard flinches back. "Sorry, man. Just -- wow." He looks up and down the woman standing in front of him. "Is that really you?" No wonder she looks familiar. She has all of Sheppard's features but drawn with more delicacy, more femininity. Weird.

"Yeah, it's me," the woman says, and hell, the pitch is higher, but otherwise her voice sounds exactly the same, with that kind of rasp Sheppard always gets when he's upset. "Yeah, I got turned into a woman. I'd really rather not talk about it, okay?" Brushing past Cam, she flops onto the couch and grabs the TV remote to channel surf with grim determination.

"Landry asked you to keep an eye on Colonel Sheppard," Jackson tells Cam. "We're on stand-down, anyway, while Sam works on fine-tuning the anti-prior device and I keep digging through Merlin's library."

While Cam hates sitting on his ass while two-fifths of his team get their geek on, he knows that science and research are the key to defeating the Ori. At least he and Teal'c have gotten some good sparring sessions in. "Sure, I can do that," he agrees. "But why all the hush-hush?"

"Tell Colonel Sheppard of the Asgard device," says Teal'c. "He will explain what needs to be done." He turns to go.

Cam grabs his arm when he realises Teal'c and Jackson are just going to leave him here with a female Sheppard. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. That's it? You're leaving?"

"We are leaving," Teal'c intones, freeing his arm with a quick twist.

"You'll be fine." Jackson pats him on his shoulder. "Just go easy on him, okay? Not every day you wake up female."

Cam turns back to the woman -- to Sheppard -- on his couch with her feet up on his coffee table, scowling at USC's bad defence. "Yeah, no kidding."

* * *

John can't hear what Mitchell and the others are talking about, but he'd bet a month's supply of tava beans it has to do with the little bomb Jackson dropped on him in the car.

> "We don't know for sure the transformation is temporary," Jackson had said. "We still don't know a lot about the device beyond its effects on the individuals that initiate it -- namely you and Jack. And, well, Teal'c's friend, but he was killed in battle years ago. The scientists at Area 51 have never been able to duplicate the transformation in a controlled setting."
> 
> "I'm still stuck on the part where this thing isn't temporary!" John tried to keep calm -- after all, Jackson was fine. Obviously he'd been changed back to his old self with no problem. "Please tell me I'm not going to be stuck like this for the rest of my life."
> 
> Jackson kept his eyes on the road. "Teal'c didn't tell General Hammond the whole truth about what happened to his friend. He said the effects of the device would automatically wear off after four days. That might still be true, but we don't know for certain. You see, Teal'c had sex with his friend on the fourth day, and the next morning his friend was back to normal. Jack and I had sex on the fourth day, and the next morning we were back to normal." Finally he looked over at John. "We don't know whether having sex on the fourth day is what reversed the transformation, or if it was just a coincidence."
> 
> "You're telling me..." No. It was ridiculous. John refused to believe it. "You're telling me I have to have _sex_, as a _woman_, in order to turn back into a man?"
> 
> "I'm saying it's a strong possibility," Jackson clarified. "I asked Jack about it later and he told me Teal'c never explicitly told him to, y'know, come on to me or whatever. It was pretty spontaneous on both our parts. Which is a bit much for a coincidence, don't you think? I've wondered whether sex was the ultimate purpose of the device, or merely a by-product of the transformation."
> 
> "Wait, wait. Are you telling me General O'Neill propositioned someone under his command? A male someone?" John stared at Jackson in horror. "You really, really should not be telling me this."
> 
> Jackson glared briefly at him. "Would you rather I not say anything and possibly leave you stuck as a woman for the rest of your life?"
> 
> There wasn't any way John could respond to that. "I hope you swept your car for bugs."
> 
> Jackson patted his jacket pocket. "Don't worry, I'm covered." But it's not until Jackson pulled the car into Mitchell's parking garage that John figured out what was going on.
> 
> "Why did you bring me here," he growled, but he knew without a doubt his secret tenth grade crush wasn't so secret anymore. Fuck. "This is _not_ what Landry had in mind when he said Mitchell would baby-sit me."
> 
> "Well, I'll leave it up to you whether or not you want to explain this whole mess to Mitchell," said Jackson with a pitying expression. "But I figured you'd rather ask him for help than me or Teal'c."
> 
> John winced and turned away. Fucking hell.

Out of the corner of his eye, John watches Jackson and Teal'c skedaddle, leaving Mitchell to his fate. He wonders how exactly he should broach the subject of saving him from McKay staring at his B-cups. Hey, Mitchell, wanna take my new body out for a test drive? Hey, Mitchell, how about another exciting adventure through the stargate? Hey, Mitchell, I can pay you?

Mitchell hovers in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen for a moment before coming over with two cold beers. "You look like you could use this," he says, passing one over and settling down on the couch next to him.

John gulps down half of his before he can meet Mitchell's gaze. "They told you what happened?"

Resting his bottle on his knee, Mitchell nods. "Just the bare bones. You're supposed to fill in the rest." He turns to John with an expectant look.

"It was an accident. Obviously."

"Obviously."

Another SG-23 mission gone sideways, only this time he can't blame Wallace or Babbis because John was the idiot who sat down on the large black cube in the middle of the deserted town square, thinking it was some kind of modern art park bench. He quickly realised his mistake when the cube started flashing blue and green lights, but it was already too late. He came to slung over Grainger's shoulder as they quick-marched back to the gate.

Mitchell bumps his shoulder. "Four days of beer and football and sci-fi classics. I'll cook, you'll eat. You won't even have to think about this whole," he looks John up and down, "_thing_, if you don't want to."

John makes a face. "I'm gonna have to take a shower at some point," he says wryly.

"Ooh, I'll buy you a loofah!" Mitchell exclaims, then ducks away, laughing, when John threatens to knock him on his ass. "That's it! That was my one joke! I'm done now."

John drains the rest of his beer, then steals Mitchell's out from under his hand. "Better be." But he's smiling reluctantly.

* * *

It's Day Two of Operation: Distract Sheppard and Cam should really stop staring. But the truth is, he can't tear his eyes away from the woman sprawled on his living room couch, eating nachos, and watching the highlights of yesterday's basketball game. He knows she's supposed to be John Sheppard, catches glimpses of him in the dark, messy hair, the greenish brown eyes, the shape of her mouth. Even the relaxed curve of her spine. But every time he goes to speak to her, to call her "Sheppard", his brain slams on the brakes. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200.

"You're staring, Mitchell," she calls out without even looking over. "Will you get your ass over here before I feel like any more of a freak show?"

Busted. "You sure you're not contagious," Cam half-jokes, plopping down on the couch next to her. He cringes at her baleful glare. "I'll shut up now." But zipping his lips doesn't stop him from peeking over every few seconds, as though to confirm she still exists and hasn't turned into some other weird and freaky thing while he wasn't looking.

"You're still staring," she growls, pissed off and unhappy.

Cam flushes and turns away. "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry." He focuses on the television, staring uncomprehendingly at Kobe making a three-pointer. It's not like him to be so rude, and he hates that he's making her feel self-conscious. But there's a part of his brain (you sure it's your _brain_ there, Shaft?) that can't help noticing that the woman who slept on his couch last night is _really fucking hot_.

It's not any one thing: it's the whole package. The way she moves, loose and carelessly graceful. The way she smirks, the way she slants her eyes at him. Her scratchy voice and her deadpan sarcasm. Her captivated face when her team makes a good play. The tilt of her head, the steady hands, the clean shampoo scent of her hair. And yeah, the way she fills her jeans doesn't hurt either.

But Cam's worked next to smart, sexy women for almost two decades and it's never hit him between the eyes like this, at first glance, with no warning. Hell, he's been friends with Triple-Threat Samantha Carter for years and has managed to keep perspective -- a truly Herculean feat if ever there was one. With this woman -- with _Sheppard_ \-- he feels like he's back in high school, popping a boner every time Amy Vandenberg brushes past him in the hallways.

The worst thing is he knows she knows. And she knows he knows. Because he's caught her staring at his crotch, biting her lip, a pretty blush on her cheeks, and she's caught him staring at her breasts, mouth dry, palms tingling with a need to touch, hold. They're circling each other, constantly aroused, waiting to see who'll break first and throw sanity out the window.

Yeah, Cam's pretty much figured out why Teal'c gave him the Asgard anti-surveillance device. Rat bastard.

* * *

John is two seconds away from climbing on top of Mitchell and just kissing the mother-loving hell out of him. He's half hard in his jeans, on the other end of the couch, and it'd be _so easy_ to get him in bed. The only reason John's holding back is that this isn't how he imagined it. This isn't how he wanted to have sex with Mitchell, him missing his dick and Mitchell only interested because John's not John.

But what the hell. Not like anything's gone his way the past few weeks. Why should sex be any different? Might as well take what he can get.

There's a sudden knock at the door, and John snatches back his outstretched hand before Mitchell can see. "Probably Jackson checking up on us," says Mitchell, rising to answer the door. Turns out it's not Jackson or anyone else from SG-1, but a bespectacled Asian man and a pretty Caucasian woman.

"Regina!" Mitchell laughs, hauling the woman into his arms and spinning her around. "What the hell are you doing here?" He kisses her cheek and turns to shake hands with the guy. "Kyle, you bastard, how are you?"

"Cam, old man, it's great to see you!" The boisterous greetings keep the strangers from noticing John right away, but Mitchell quickly ushers them in, eyes crinkled and grinning.

"Hey there," the woman, Regina, says to John when she sees him.

Mitchell's expression turns panicked for a moment as his visitors look curiously between him and John, and he stutters, "Uh, this is, this is a friend of mine --"

"Joan." John stands up to shake hands with Regina, then Kyle. "Joan Sheppard. I'm a friend of Cam's from work."

"Nice to meet you," says Regina with a broad smile that strikes a familiar chord. "I'm Regina, first cousin on Cam's father's side, third of four," she adds, name and rank, an old Mitchell family joke John's heard before, and oh fucking hell, _Gina_, Mitch's baby sister Gina. "And this is my husband, Kyle Truong."

In a daze, John shakes Kyle's hand and fights down the instinct to execute a tactical retreat to the bathroom. Because of course John's going to risk running into Mitchell's relatives so long as they keep hanging out. The Mitchell clan is unto the sun rising in the east: warm, bright, constant, inevitable.

Thankfully Mitchell recovers enough to keep Regina and Kyle's attention away from John, and there's happy banter between them about how everyone's doing, who's been reassigned where, their opinions on the latest batch of boyfriends and girlfriends and babies within the extended family.

"Damn, I haven't thought about Shannon in ages," Mitchell's saying when John tunes back in. "Please tell me Helen's divorced him by now."

"Two years ago, thank God," Regina mutters. "The guy may be a top-notch pilot, but he's a sadistic son of a bitch who gets off on fucking up everyone around him."

"Shannon. You mean Todd Shannon?" John hesitates when everyone turns to look at him. "I... used to know him, kind of. Mutual friends."

"Yeah? You should come along then," Regina says. "Keep Cam from looking like a total loser without a date." John must look like he doesn't know what the hell she's talking about, because she clarifies: "Ricardo Mendosa's bi-annual birthday bash? He does it every other year if he's stateside. He's at Peterson now, so Kyle and I figured it'd be an easy drive."

"Yeah, Regina's on leave and I took a couple of days off from work," Kyle puts in. "We weren't sure Cam would be in town, though. If you guys aren't busy, you should come with."

"I don't know," Mitchell hedges.

"You already have plans?"

"No," Mitchell's forced to admit. "I just, I haven't seen most of these people since Afghanistan."

Regina's not too impressed with that argument. "All the more reason to see them, then. I think they'll be able to restrain themselves from asking too many questions about your current assignment, Lieutenant Colonel Classified, if that's what you're worrying about."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Mitchell says primly. Regina rolls her eyes.

"We'll go," says John in a rush, before he can ask himself _what the fuck he's thinking_. Todd Shannon is ancient history. But that's the problem with hanging around Mitchell -- it's old home week, all week, and for once John's not strong enough to stay the hell away. "It'll be fun. See everyone." He turns to Mitchell desperately. "Right? We'll have a good time."

"Right. Sure." Mitchell's grin is only a little forced. Good man, backing him up like always. "We can do that. I wouldn't mind seeing Mendosa and Brown and those guys. Like you say, it's been a while." He shrugs at his cousin. "You got an address?"

As Regina scribbles down the time and place, John slowly comes back to himself, to a body clenched in half-remembered anxiety, his back and shoulders knotted with old tensions and guilt and not-quite-buried anger. Mitch's baby sister. Todd Fucking Shannon.

Also? He's got a date tomorrow with Cameron Mitchell. Yeah, nice going, John.

* * *

"This is all your fault, you know," Cam pants as he and Teal'c slow their pace to a cool-down jog. It's a gorgeous September afternoon, and it didn't take Teal'c long to convince Cam to join him for a run. Of course, it doesn't hurt that it gets Cam out of the apartment; hell, he's man enough to admit he's in full avoidance mode. Day Three of Operation: Distract Sheppard started with Cam jerking off in the shower to the memory of Joan stretched full-length on his couch, her t-shirt riding up to show off a toned abdomen and sharp hipbones. God, he wants her. It's wrong and he's wrong and he knows it. Joan Sheppard is John Sheppard, and he's a horny jackass who can't seem to remember his friend is _in there_, inside that body, same as he's always been.

Cam figures, if he doesn't want to screw up their friendship, better to stay the hell away from temptation.

"I cannot see how I am to blame for your current predicament," Teal'c says calmly, not even breathing hard.

"That's because you lack imagination." Cam stumbles once, then stumbles again to a halt, landing against a convenient lamppost. "I can't get her out of my head."

Teal'c looks at him sharply. "You think of Colonel Sheppard as female."

Pressing his forehead to the cold concrete of the lamppost, Cam tries to regain his breath. "No, worse. I see them as two different people." He rolls his head to look pleadingly at Teal'c. "I don't want to hurt him."

"Then do not hurt him," says Teal'c simply. Which is sound advice that Cam's afraid he won't be able to follow.

Teal'c drops him off at home before heading back to the Mountain. "You have tonight and one more day, Colonel Mitchell. I am confident you will survive."

"I can always count on you, buddy," says Cam tiredly. He lets himself into an empty apartment and stands frozen in the entryway for a full minute before remembering that Joan is John and fully capable of walking to the grocery store or the coffee shop or wherever it is she -- he -- has gone. Sheppard doesn't need Cam to hold his hand to cross the street, even if he's currently experiencing some funky genetic manipulation.

He strips off and steps into the shower, grateful the workout has tired him out enough so his libido is under control. The morning had been incredibly awkward, his guilt over getting off on Sheppard's female body warring with the rush of affection and desire he felt seeing Joan half-asleep over a bowl of Cheerios. There'd been a frightening near-miss when she'd bumped into him on the way to the fridge -- half on purpose, Cam thinks. For one heart-stopping moment they'd been pressed up against one another, the swell of her ass against his dick, until she'd shivered and jumped out of arm's reach.

He's almost finished getting ready for their, jeez, their date, when he hears the front door open and female voices. He slips on his sports jacket and goes out into the living room to find Sam and Vala waiting with the devil in their eyes. "Oh God, what," he moans, knowing whatever it is, it can't be healthy for him.

"You'd better appreciate all our hard work, Mitchell," says Vala with a little bounce. "Let me tell you, it took forever just to convince him to put on the eyeliner, never mind the outfit itself." With a dazzling grin, she flashes her hands in the direction of the kitchen -- "Ta-da!" -- then frowns when nothing happens. "Uh, Sheppard? That's your cue!"

"Eyeliner? _Outfit_?" Cam turns to Sam, bastion of sense and reason. "Sam, Christ. What the hell did you guys do?"

Sam frowns and grabs him by the arm, dragging him out of earshot of Sheppard, who's presumably hiding in the kitchen. "Don't, Cam. You have no idea."

"What the hell do you expect from me, Sam?" he frets. "You telling me this is supposed to be a real date? Do you not remember a little something called 'don't ask, don't tell'?"

"Cam, listen." Sam is firm. "He came to me, okay? He asked me for help. He wanted to do this, and no, I don't think this is necessarily a wise decision, but -- Cam. He's putting himself out there, for you, and you are by God not going to make him feel like a fool." She stares him down. "Are you hearing me?"

"Yes, ma'am," he whispers. Not simply because he can't deny Sam when she lays it on the line like that, but because John going to Sam of all people for help _means_ something. He's not sure what it means, exactly, but he is bound and determined to respect it.

"John, come out, please," Sam calls. Vala prods him from behind, not quite pushing, and John's beet red and flustered when he finally emerges. But the man's always had more guts than brains: he cocks his head, deliberately lets his body go loose, relaxing into his signature 'fuck you, sir' slouch. And God, it shouldn't be hot, but it is, and Cam is so, so screwed.

"_John_," he breathes, looking him up and down. He's got on a slinky white dress with an indecent neckline and a hem that skims mid-thigh. His slender curves are on display, all sweet lines and bare skin Cam wants to touch. His dark hair is artfully mussed, curling to frame his face. With the high heels and smoky make-up and tinkling silver bangles on the arm he usually wears his black wristband, John looks sexy and classy and, God. "You look incredible."

If possible John turns even redder, but his mouth tips into a genuine smile. "Yeah? It's not, y'know. Too weird?"

Cam drifts closer, mesmerized. "Hell, no. Not weird at all. This is..." He stares down at John, who's almost back to his usual height with the heels. "God, you smell good too," he murmurs, because John's wearing perfume, a delicate ocean scent that's perfectly fitting.

A light flashes in Cam's peripheral, and he jerks back to see Vala with his digital camera, grinning madly at him. The moment shattered, Cam grabs for the camera while she dances away. "No photos, Vala!"

Sam comes to the rescue. "I'll make sure it's secure," she says, holding out her hand until Vala surrenders the camera. She looks between John and Cam. "Trust me."

Looking torn, John eventually nods. "I fucking learned how to walk in heels," he growls, taking Cam's arm in a fierce grip. "So we're fucking going to this party."

Cam takes a long moment to drink him in, the bright flame in him that Cam first saw years ago, when they were younger and near invincible. When Vala steals the camera back and snaps a few more shots, he barely notices: his field of vision is too full with John.

Sam presses something into his hand -- the Asgard anti-surveillance device. He tucks it into his breast pocket, then adjusts John's clasp on his arm with gentle care. "Let's do this."

* * *

Mendosa's gone all out for this shindig, which John appreciates because he's flushed and floating from two glasses of decent white wine and two more glasses of excellent brandy that Regina finagled from -- somewhere. He clings to Cam's arm as they circulate the room, trusting Cam to keep him steady on his heels. John recognises a few faces in the crowd, mostly from Afghanistan, a couple others from ROTC, but of course they don't recognise him -- just as well since he can't imagine what he'd say to them. Given the same situation, I'd make the same decision and damn the court martial? Don't pity me for Antarctica because my current assignment is literally out of this world?

"Oh crap," Cam mutters under his breath. "Todd Shannon at two o'clock." But Shannon spots them, spots John, and cuts through the crowd like a shark scenting blood in the water. He stands in Cam's path, lets his eyes linger on John's cleavage, deliberately provocative. John can feel Cam bristling.

"Mitchell. Been a while." Shannon's smile turns predatory and he takes John's free hand in his own, gently stroking his palm. "Are you going to introduce me to your beautiful date?"

Fuck, John's trembling and he knows Shannon can feel him trembling -- he sees the satisfied glint in those sharp green eyes. It's insane because John hates Shannon, doesn't want anything to do with him, but he can't force himself to look away.

"Maybe some other time," says Cam blandly. "If you'll excuse us." He tries to guide John past Shannon, but the other man tightens his hold on John's hand.

"I'm not done here, Mitchell," says Shannon, soft and even. But the faint suggestion of a threat is enough to snap John out of it.

"I say we're done," he says in a tight voice, breaking Shannon's grip easily. "You don't seem like anyone I'd care to know." With a subtle tug on Cam's arm, John leads them through the crowd and out into the hotel foyer. The air is cooler and John leans against the wall behind a pillar.

Cam's there, at a reasonable distance, concern and anger colouring his face. "That son of a bitch," he says savagely. He cups a warm palm around John's bare shoulder. "Are you okay?"

John nods, not quite ready to speak.

"You want something to drink?"

Huffing a laugh, John shakes his head. "I've had enough for tonight, I think." He looks up to find Cam's blue eyes gazing down at him, everything he's feeling there for the world to see. He's a decent man, Cameron Mitchell is, thinks John. Smart and kind and loyal as the day is long, and, okay, kind of old-fashioned. But he's got a good heart, and more courage and fight in him than anyone would expect after the blows he's suffered.

Cam's expression turns confused. "What?"

John shakes his head again, and grins. "Nothing. Just. My taste in men has _greatly_ improved over the years."

Cam smiles a little. "Oh." Then he seems to understand what John's saying, and the smile turns megawatt. "_Oh_. Well." He bounces on his toes, ridiculously pleased. "Do you, uh," he tilts his head toward the ballroom. "Would you like to dance?"

It's silly, and John knows Cam's simply treating him like he'd treat a woman on a real date, but he's got maybe 24 hours left and he is determined to make the most of it. "Slow dancing's fine," he says, tucking his arm into Cam's again. "But I'll probably kill you with these heels if we try anything fancy."

"Slow dancing it is, then."

They take an empty corner of the dance floor and make it theirs, and John basks in it. This is nothing like what he wanted, it's nothing he could've ever imagined -- the dress, the shoes, the way Cam's big hands span his ribcage -- but it's good, better than anything's felt in a long time, and he's not about to let what should be get in the way of having this.

He lifts one hand and trails the back of his fingers down Cam's cheek, feeling the other man shudder in response, and pull John closer. "Cam," he whispers, and wraps his arms around Cam's neck, letting him take his weight. "Cam, please." He tilts his face up.

But Cam's got his eyes closed, fighting it, though his breathing's turning harsh and his hands keep stroking down John's back to his hips. "We can't," he says tightly.

"We can," says John, touching his lips to the corner of Cam's mouth. With a ragged breath, Cam turns blindly to find his lips again, and they kiss, slow and soft and lingering, one kiss after another until John's hot and melting and clutching at Cam's shoulders.

"Cameron. _Cam_."

Someone's trying to talk to Cam. Sounds urgent, but John's lost in sensation and doesn't care, not until Cam gasps and breaks the kiss.

"Cam, here. Go, before you get arrested."

"I ain't takin' your bed, Kyle."

"You'd better or Regina's gonna come over here."

Cam turns John in his arms, tucks him into his side. "We're gonna go upstairs, okay?"

It takes a moment, but John quickly nods, and pulls him down for a kiss. "Hotel room. _Bed_." He doesn't spare another thought for Regina and Kyle because Cam's guiding him out into the foyer and over to the bank of elevators. They snag an empty elevator, thank God, and John doesn't waste time dragging Cam into another kiss, this one wet and deep and thoroughly X-rated.

"Fuck," Cam groans when they pull apart to breathe. "John, Christ." His touch turns gentle, as though forcing himself to stay in control now that they're so close to privacy. "You okay?"

"Better than okay." Pressing his face into the hollow of Cam's throat where the top button of his shirt's undone, John murmurs, "I want you, Cameron Mitchell."

Evidently Cam hears him because his hands are shaking a little as he pulls John out of the elevator, down the hall, and finally -- inside a hotel room with a lock and a bed and Cam dumping his jacket on the floor, toeing off his shoes, unbuckling his belt.

John grabs his hands before he can lower the zipper. "Wait, Cam." John's not foolish enough to think there won't be any fallout from this, but the least he can do is ask one last time. "We don't have to do this. Not if you have any doubts."

* * *

Cam can't help but smile at John's offer to back out with no hard feelings. It's sweet. "No doubts," he promises. He cups John's face in both hands and kisses him gently. "Been a long, long time since I wanted someone the way I want you." He kisses him again. "John." Again. "John." And again. "John."

Cursing under his breath, John pulls out of reach, overwhelmed. "Fucking hell, Mitchell. You're a lethal weapon." He kicks off his heels. "Come on, take off your clothes." John licks his lips and reaches out to cup Cam's erection through his pants. "I want to see you."

Stumbling back, Cam lands his ass on the bed. "When you put it like that..." He doesn't waste time, just pulls off pants and underwear and socks in one go, then yanks his dress shirt off over his head without unbuttoning it. And then he's naked, except his tags, and hard and willing for whatever John has in mind.

"Fuck, Cam," John swears, and goes down on his knees right in front of him. Cam freezes, holds painfully still, because John, with that red mouth and that dazed look in his eyes, is almost enough to get him to come right this second. "Please," John murmurs, like he's the one needing permission.

Resting a careful hand on the nape of his neck, Cam brings John closer, close enough for his lipstick-red mouth to brush the wet tip of his cock. "_John_." Wide green eyes, familiar and mysterious with the black eyeliner and shadow, flicker up to Cam. "Suck me. Please." With a moan, John takes the head of his cock into his mouth, sucking gently. He brings his hands up to stroke Cam's balls, his thighs. He pulls off with a desperate gasp, then licks the shaft, long delicious licks that drive Cam crazy with anticipation. "Jesus Christ," he pants when John bobs his head up and down, moaning and clearly loving having Cam's dick in his mouth, and then, "oh holy fuck, _John_," he relaxes and swallows and goes down, down, _down_, taking almost all of Cam deep in his throat, and Cam's gonna come, he's can't stop it -- but then John's mouth is gone and he's pressing hard against the base of Cam's dick, stopping him.

"God, _what_?"

"Don't come," John rasps, his voice shot all to hell. "Not yet. Want you to fuck me, Cam."

"Shit, shit," Cam moans, holding himself from the brink with all the willpower he can summon. "Whatever you want, just -- give me a minute." He takes a couple of deep breaths, cools down enough to focus his attention back on John. Who is, Christ. Touching himself with his dress hiked up and his hand down a pair of lacy panties. "Okay, that is seriously hot."

John smirks and reaches back to unzip the dress. He shrugs it to the floor, then steps close for Cam to pull his panties off. His thighs are silky smooth, and Cam has to swallow hard at the proof that John wants him, wants him badly enough to shave his legs and buy sexy lingerie. "You're amazing, you know that?" he says, kissing his way up John's beautiful body, from hip to belly to breast to shoulder to chin. "You blow my mind."

"And people think I'm the crazy one," John mutters under his breath, but he helps Cam shove the covers off the bed, and doesn't resist when Cam pulls him down and kisses him softly, tenderly. "You're definitely," he sighs between kisses, "the crazy one."

"Whatever gets you through the night, sweetheart," Cam laughs, cupping one breast in his hand, enjoying John's sharp inhalation and quiet moan. "You like that?" He pinches a nipple, mouth going dry when John jerks and arches into his hand. "Yeah, like that." He does it again to watch the pleasure washing over John's face. "What else you like?"

"How the fuck do I know?" John groans, biting at Cam's throat. "Not like I've done this before."

"Good point." He trails a hand down John's belly to tangle in his curls. "I'm pretty sure you'll like this," he says, teasing the wet folds between John's thighs, dipping in further and further until John's panting and arching up, one hand wrapped tight around Cam's forearm.

"Cam, Cam, please," he begs. "Touch me, do it." Cam nuzzles him, finds his clit and rubs, the slick moisture letting his fingers slide around and around until John's gasping, crying out, "Cam, fuck, Cam, Cam," and coming in a long, rippling wave. By the time he comes down from orgasm, Cam's struggling not to just rub off on John's wet thighs until he comes. But John fumbles for his purse and pulls out a condom, his hands barely steady enough to roll it on.

He lies down and drags Cam on top of him. "You gonna fuck me now, Mitchell?" He says it like a dare, legs spread open.

"John," says Cam helplessly. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm gonna fuck you." He rubs himself between the lips of John's vagina, and God, now that he's here -- yeah, it's a little weird, but weirdly sexy and an incredible turn-on. He's going to _fuck John Sheppard_. "Fuck," he rasps, pressing in carefully, because technically John's a virgin. No barrier though, just melting heat and a tight channel gripping him through the latex.

"Yeah, yeah, Cam," John sighs, curving up to meet him while Cam thrusts deeper and deeper. "S'good."

"I can make it better," Cam promises, then forces himself to pull back a little, change the angle, drive in harder -- John's sharp gasp and suddenly grasping hands are his reward for the effort. "Good?"

John's nod is a bit frantic, his eyes wild as he stares up at Cam. "Cam. Cam, I --" He breaks off. Surges up to kiss him, wet and messy, tongues twining, and it's so good Cam's not sure he can hold on much longer. He glides one hand down John's sweat-slick back, over his hip and between their bodies, searching out his clit. "God!" John arcs, wraps his legs around Cam's thighs, and comes with a shuddering cry.

Gripping John's hips, Cam starts thrusting again, fast and rough, barely controlled, until, "John, _John_," he comes hard, his vision going white. "Christ almighty," he gasps, "John."

"Yeah," he murmurs, lips pressed against Cam's throat. "That was..."

Cam threads his fingers through John's mess of hair. "...hmm, what you said."

* * *

John wakes to Cam's tongue tracing damp circles on his stomach, the stubble on his chin scratching a counterpoint. "Cameron?"

"Mornin', sweetheart," Cam smiles up at him, warm and content, the corner of his eyes crinkling. "How you feelin'?"

"Pretty good," says John cautiously. "Sweetheart?"

Cam quirks an eyebrow, challenging. "That a problem?" He thumbs John's nipple, his hand big and warm on John's breast. "Or are you not a pet name kind of guy?"

Fairly certain he's never given the subject much thought, he simply shrugs. "Whatever you want." Eyes sliding shut, he lets himself be rolled onto his side, his back to Cam's chest, his ass against Cam's half-hard dick. "You spooning me, Mitchell?" he asks, amused.

"I'm a snuggler, get used to it," was the sleepy reply.

Since it's his last day as a woman and he's pretty sure Cam won't be so eager to spoon once John has his dick back, he doubts he'll have a chance to get used to it. Which is a pity, because the arms around him are strong and protective and John doesn't want to leave this place. Making a few non-committal noises, he settles down within Cam's embrace and allows his drowsiness to overtake him.

The second time he wakes it's to an empty bed, the faint murmur of voices, then the hotel room door closing. It's still early, too early on a Sunday morning, and John turns over to press his face into Cam's pillow, hunting out his scent, Hugo Boss and male sweat and sex. It's not as reassuring as it should be. There was a tide turning last night, and John feels terribly unmoored.

After a few minutes, though, he pushes himself up and gets out of bed because if there's one luxury he can't allow himself, it's wallowing in self-pity. In the bathroom, he finds toiletries that must be for him -- toothbrush, toothpaste, a new razor (pink), shaving gel, a loofah (also pink). He lingers in the shower, touched by Cam's thoughtfulness, and in spite of the voice in the back of his head urging him to get out while the getting's good, he's determined to not screw up the morning after.

He's standing in front of the mirror, trying to decide if he's crazy enough to put on make-up, when Cam taps on the bathroom door. "You decent?"

John's in a towel, which is decent enough, but he's reluctant to let Cam see him like this in the cold light of day. Even after having sex with this body, John's not sure how he feels about it, the unfamiliarity of its sensations. He wishes Teyla was here. Colonel Carter and Vala are nice enough, but they don't have Teyla's ability to impart a sense of calm and self-possession. But if wishes were horses. "Yeah, come in."

Cam enters dressed in jeans and a wrinkled USAF t-shirt, probably from the kit he keeps in the car. "I figured you wouldn't want to wear your party dress home, so I bought you stuff from the gift shop downstairs." He pulls out a light blue t-shirt and a dark blue skirt. "Hope they fit okay."

They don't, really, the t-shirt tight across John's breasts and the skirt loose around his hips, riding low to show off the curve of his waist. But the appreciative gleam in Cam's eyes is an ego boost, so John lets it go.

Regina and Kyle are sitting around the tiny hotel room table when they come out. "Good _morning_, Joan!" Regina exclaims, a wicked grin on her face. "And how did _you_ sleep last night?"

"Gina," Cam growls. "Leave her alone." There's enough real anger in his tone that Regina subsides, though she's obviously still laughing at them on the inside.

"We were about to go down for breakfast," Kyle jumps in. "Did you guys want to join us?"

"Let's just get McDonald's on the way," says Regina, digging into her purse.

Her husband groans. "Honey, is this really how you want to spend our hard-earned vacation?"

"It'll be fun!" She finally pulls out a hot pink flyer that proclaims HAPPY 50th ANNIVERSARY TOWN OF BOONE!!! in 40 point font. "Did you know the town of Boone, Colorado, was incorporated fifty years ago this Friday?"

Cam and Kyle share a look of fond impatience. "No, honey," Kyle rolls his eyes. "We didn't know that."

"They're having a carnival all week." She waves the flyer at them. "There's a pie-eating contest and midway games and cotton candy."

John perks up. "Do they have rides?"

"'Games and rides for the whole family,'" Regina quotes. "You wanna go?"

Cam brushes his fingers down John's arm and takes his hand, lacing their fingers together. "We can ride the Ferris Wheel," he says, warm promise in his eyes.

* * *

"C'mon, Sheppard, don't tell me you're afraid of lil' ol' blue-haired grandmas."

"Stop trying to goad me, Mitchell. It's not going to work."

"Nothing wrong with a bit of exercise and some healthy competition."

"Against senior citizens?"

"I dare you."

"What are you, _five_?"

"I double-dog dare you."

"Oh, you are _on_."

And that's how Cam and John find themselves tied at the ankle and struggling to keep up with the very blue-haired, very nimble Mrs. Diane Morrison and Mrs. Magda Polanski of Boone, Colorado, as they race across the local high school football field.

Kyle's busting a gut laughing while Regina's jumping up and down in the sidelines, screaming, "Goddammit, are you a Mitchell or are you a Mitchell!" But it's all to no avail because Team Morrison/Polanski, reigning champs of the Boone Carnival Three-Legged Race twelve years running, beat Team Mitchell/Sheppard to the finish line by a healthy four metres.

"Let's give a round of applause to our second place team! What great sports!" The guy with the mic, the mayor or something, pounds Cam on the back and pats John lightly on the shoulder. A little girl all decked out in her Sunday best marches up on stage to present them with their red ribbons. "Congratulations, Cameron and Joan!"

Regina's got her digital camera out, snapping photos every two seconds, and Cam feels kind of bad that none of them will turn out -- the Asgard device is still switched on. It would've been nice to have photos to capture this moment, John flushed and happy, laughing easily. Cam's willing to bet he hasn't thought about Atlantis all day.

They eat corn dogs and funnel cakes until they're ready to hurl, and John plays the shooting game and hits every damn target. "Thanks for the teddy bear," Cam tells him solemnly. "I'll treasure him always."

As dusk settles, Regina and Kyle find seats near the bandstand to listen to some local jazz. But John leans against Cam and whispers, "Ferris wheel. Now." Cam buys a bunch of tickets and they ride the Ferris wheel 'round and 'round, and they make out like teenagers, John practically straddling him in the swaying carriage, Cam's hands under John's t-shirt.

"This is supposed to be a family ride," Cam protests when John starts tugging at his belt. "John, don't, there's kids in the next carriage."

John growls in frustration. "We passed a motel on the way."

"We passed a dozen motels," Cam agrees. "I'd rather go home. Wouldn't you?" It's the wrong thing to say, Cam knows it the moment he says it, but John's already gone still and quiet and far, far away. "There's a Holiday Inn the next block over."

"That's fine," says John, and rests his head on Cam's shoulder as the Ferris wheel makes one more rotation.

Their second night together is even more intense than their first. John doesn't let Cam come for the longest time, wanting desperately to get fucked and pushing Cam to stop being so goddamn careful. They've got bruises everywhere by the time round one is over, but it's nothing compared to the broken look in John's eyes.

"You're gonna be here in the morning, right?" Cam can't help but ask. "John, promise me you'll be here in the morning."

He's not.

* * *

Despite Cam's valiant attempt to stay awake until the change happens, he eventually drifts off to sleep. John really wore him out.

There's only a sliver of yellow light from a crack in the curtains, and John nearly stumbles into a wall. Getting dressed in the dark isn't something he's used to doing any more. On Atlantis, the lights dim and brighten with a mere thought. He stands by the bed for a while, tracing the faint shadow of Cam's body with his eyes, filling in details from memory. He wants to kiss him one last time or something sentimental like that, but he's not a total idiot, even if he is a coward.

He breaks into Cam's car and takes his clothes from the night before, then walks to another motel down the block and pays cash for a room. Takes a shower. Lies naked on the bed for a couple of hours, staring up at the ceiling. When the sky begins to lighten the change happens, and it's like nodding off, then suddenly jerking awake -- a moment of disorientation, adrenaline, animal instinct. He's up on his knees, arms raised defensively, when he realises it's over. He's back.

* * *

"Hey, you're back," says Jackson, looking up from the avalanche of books and manuscripts spilling across his desk.

"Nothing gets by you," Cam grumbles, scrubbing his hands over his face. He needs more coffee, dammit. No, scratch that. He needs John Sheppard to not be such a fucking asshole.

Jackson narrows his eyes at him. "Rough night?" he asks rather pointedly. He reaches over to Cam's breast pocket and taps the Asgard device on. "I would've thought you'd be more mellow than this after sex."

Cam stiffens. "I don't need to hear your opinion on my sex life."

Of course, Jackson's not exactly the kind of guy to back off uncomfortable subjects just because Cam tells him to. "Look, I'm not trying to pry into your personal life," he says earnestly. "But considering I'm the one who told Sheppard it was do or die and basically dumped him in your lap, I just want some reassurance that I haven't caused irreparable damage between you two. I mean, I'd have volunteered to help him out, but it was pretty obvious I'd be the consolation prize."

There are days when Jackson's not speaking English even when he's speaking English. "What the hell are you on about, 'volunteering to help him out'," says Cam, frowning.

"He didn't tell you?" There's a flash of, Cam's not sure what -- pity, maybe -- before Jackson smooths out his expression. "I'm sure it wasn't anything important."

"Volunteering to..." Cam chokes on air. "You're talking about the sex, aren't you. That's why Teal'c gave me the counter-surveillance device. Because he knew Sheppard was going to ask me to 'help him out'."

"Cameron, don't," Jackson says warningly. It's not pity in his voice, after all. Sympathy, most likely. Understanding. "You know it wasn't like that. Not for him."

But it's hard to believe that when Cam woke up to an empty bed. "He should have told me."

"Maybe he didn't want it to be about that." His gaze turning inward, Jackson seems lost in memory of a story Cam's not privy to. "Maybe he wanted you to say yes for the right reasons."

* * *

"I can't believe I had to hear about your _accidental sex change via Ancient technology_ from _Cadman_, of all people," Rodney grumbles. He's been at it for twenty minutes now, yelling at the top of his lungs for the first fifteen, and shifting to a lower gear the last five. John estimates another five to ten minutes before they can move on to a new topic.

"It was kind of a little vacation," says John thoughtfully. Almost a honeymoon, really -- he's willing to admit in the privacy of his own head that that's how he's starting to think of those four days with Cameron. A blissful dream divorced from reality. "There was a lot of sleeping and eating and vegging out on the couch."

"Oh, how wonderful for you. Meanwhile I'm leaving a million messages on your voicemail that you _never return_, and Carson has to get that Dr. Lam person on the phone to explain why your DNA getting rearranged so that you've got, you know -- _girl parts_ \-- doesn't mean you're necessarily going to die from some horrible genetic mutation!"

John sighs. "I said I was sorry."

"You better be! I was worried," Rodney adds, more quietly. "Do you know how many things can go wrong with gene therapy? It's not like it's an exact science, you know!"

"Hell, I turned into a giant mutant bug that one time, and I got better." Movement in his doorway has him glancing up from his model airplanes. "Uh, McKay, I'm gonna have to call you back." Ignoring the squawk of protest, John hangs up the phone and slowly gets to his feet. "Cameron."

Cam comes fully into the room and closes the door, shoving a chair under the doorknob. "We need to talk."

"Not here," John protests, because it's bad enough SG-1 conspired to get two male officers in bed together, never mind that one of them was gender-switched -- they don't need to flaunt it here on base right under Landry's nose. But Cam shows him the oval device in his hand; it's not Ancient tech.

"It's Asgard. We're fine." He tucks it back in his pocket. "And we are going to have this conversation now, because you've been avoiding me for three days straight, staying in base quarters so I can't catch you at your apartment, running out whenever I see you in the commissary or the locker room."

"I've been busy," John mutters.

Cam's head is down and he looks exhausted, worn thin. "John. Please."

"Look, what do you want from me?" John kicks at his desk. "This was never going to end well. Just. Why can't you leave it alone?"

"Because it meant something to me," Cam says softly, wrenchingly. "You mean something to me, John. Am I so wrong to think I meant something to you too?"

His blue eyes are burning a hole in John's heart. "How can even you say that?" he demands, pissed off, turning to one side. "I've known you a long time, Mitchell. You're straight. You've always been straight."

Cam tips a smile. "Oh yeah? I think last weekend would prove otherwise."

"You had sex with a female body," John argues.

Cam shakes his head and moves closer, reaching out to brush John's jaw with the pad of his thumb. "Do you really think I'd stop wanting to kiss you because you've got a five o'clock shadow?"

Jerking his chin away, John snorts. "You telling me you don't?" It's a tactical error, though, to throw down a challenge like that. If there's one thing Mitchells are good at, it's rising to the challenge. "Cam, stop it." But Cam's got his big, warm hands cupping John's face, and his eyes are an amazing blue, and his mouth is soft, kissing John sweetly. "Cam..."

Brushing his lips over John's cheek, to his temple, Cam pulls him close and buries his nose in John's hair. "One of these days Landry's gonna hold you down and give you a buzz-cut." He wraps his arms around John and holds on, and holds on, and after a while, John can't not hold on too. "You gonna give me a chance, Shep?"

"Doesn't look like I have much choice," says John, oddly relieved. "You're kind of insane, you know. Are you honestly willing to risk losing SG-1? For this?"

"Risk, yes. For this." He kisses John again, then leans back to meet his eyes. "Though I'd rather keep you both." He smiles a little. "But hey, I just heard tell from Jackson that General O'Neill is on the president's case to repeal DADT before his second term is up. Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction," he chuckles when John stares in surprise. "Those guys, man. Thank God they're on our side."

John's more interested in kissing Cam than talking about O'Neill or Jackson. "What are you doing tonight?"

"Crap," says Cam, pulling away. "Yeah, I forgot to mention. We've got a bead on Merlin's weapon, something about a perfect pyramid made up of the four points using the four planets -- whatever. But we're supposed to gear up in ten minutes." He glances at his watch. "Make that two minutes."

It's John's turn to cup his face and kiss him, letting their tongues tangle briefly. "When you get back," he says. "Rodney's up for the weekend and I'm taking him and Elizabeth and Carson out for dinner. But don't worry, I'm sure he'll spend half his weekend in the lab or chasing after Carter, or in the lab chasing after Carter."

Cam makes a face. "Maybe Saturday morning? He won't even be awake then." They kiss one more time, soft and slow and lingering. "John," he sighs, touching their foreheads together.

"You better go," John says reluctantly. "You've got a Holy Grail to find." Cam snorts at that and moves away, one hand trailing down John's arm until their hands break apart. He moves the chair blocking the door. "Oh, hey," says John, remembering. "You like Monty Python, right?"

"The knights who say 'Ni'," Cam laughs, his eyes crinkling. "I drive Jackson nuts with that one. I'm surprised you remember."

John shrugs. "I guess I remember more than I thought." He smiles to himself, secretly pleased.

"I'll see you when I get back?" says Cam, half out the door.

John nods. "I'll be here."


End file.
